The group continued to walk through fields, over slowly rolling hills and under the occasional shade of oak trees throughout the next several days. As they headed further north and continued to avoid any main roads or villages, the landscape started to change.

Each morning, the air seemed slightly more bitter, reminding them they were entering winter's domain. While he had hated the sweltering heat caused by their heavy clothes when they started, Devin was immensely grateful for them now. The hills started to become just a bit steeper, with jagged rocks starting to protrude from them more often. More trees started to fill in the landscape, though the oaks were quickly replaced by needle covered monstrosities with rough bark he had never seen before.

“They’re called pine trees,” Daisy laughed as she explained to him one day while they were resting. Devin had reached up to touch some of the hard green needles, swearing as his hand came away sticky with sap when he brushed the bark.

“Surely one of you has seen a pine tree before?” No one in the group said anything. “Even you, Teryn?”

“I have kept my journeys solely to the warmer climates. A self imposed limitation, I am aware, but the one I am more comfortable in.” Teryn had answered, her nose turned up slightly at, for once, not knowing something off hand.

To the north, thick clouds of grey and black were becoming more defined and clear with each passing mile. On the fifth day of their trek, Shia gasped, pointing to the north.

The clouds broke and revealed a monstrous beast of a mountain. It was jet black and jagged, like a single tusk jutting from the earth into the heavens, covered in snow with its peaks and occasional sides poking through the blanket.

Daisy smiled, “Just you wait until we are a bit closer.”

As they travelled that day, more and more of the peaks broke through the clouds, filling their vision with an immense row of teeth, blocking their path north.

“Are we going to have to travel over those?” Devin asked.

“Oh, gods above, no!” Daisy said. “We will go under them.”

“Wait a second, lass,” Murton said. “I thought orcs did not like the cold. Why in the world are we travelling deeper into this frostbitten shit hole to find your city?”

“I did and I am not lying. You will just have to wait and see, won't you?” she taunted them, hefting the bag on her shoulders and setting off towards the row of mountains.

“We should be there late tomorrow, the next day in the morning if we dawdle,” she called back to them as she kept walking.

That night, the Black Boar Band experienced snowfall. Living in Mossglenn Depot, Devin had seen snowfall before. It would come down at night, melting and muddying up the streets the following morning if it did not turn to water as it struck the ground. Due to the location on the coasts, snow rarely, if ever, stuck around long. He was not prepared for this morning.

As he woke from his sleep, he felt a soft pressure on him. He pushed up with a start and a shout, expecting some foul northern beast to be prowling over him, ready to strike and devour him. Instead, he found a blanket of thick, wet snow covering him.

His startled shout, more like a yelp to the others if they were asked about it, woke everyone up in their camp. Daisy, who had been holding the watch over them while they slept, was laughing so hard she had to use a nearby boulder for support. Devin felt his face start to burn with embarrassment as everyone else started joining in on the laughter.

He mumbled something about always being prepared and shook the snow from his blanket, folding it up and stowing it in one of the packs. The rest of the group broke their camps, still giggling amongst themselves.

As the initial shame of the moment faded, Devin found he could join them in a smile. It was nice to have something to laugh at on their trek, gods knew they had precious little good going for them. They were in uncharted northern territory, waking up under blankets of snow, being led by a possible outcast into a hitherto unknown orcish city.

It was not exactly a story for the ages.

As Teryn and Griff started a small fire to make their meagre breakfast, fried eggs with strips of dried meat, Devin pulled a strip of cloth from his bag. He took the cloth to the edge of a nearby jagged boulder and started a cut along it. Tearing it into a long strip, he grimaced as his right hand bumped against the rock.

He had been ignoring the throbbing in his hand this whole journey. The same bandage that was placed on it after they cauterized it was still sitting there, covered in grime and dried blood. He knew it was stupid to have ignored it. He should have redressed it after crawling out of the ocean. Part of him was afraid of what he would find underneath. Injuries hurt while healing, that was a given, but the way his throbbed and pulsed up his arm made him think of infection.

Peeling the rank bandage from his hand slowly, his back to the group who were huddled over the cooking eggs, his stomach turned over as the bandage fell away. Bile crept up in his throat, a mix of revulsion and worry.

The nubs where his fingers had once been were black. Part of that could be ascribed to the fact he had burnt them to stop the bleeding and, hopefully, stop infection. Running up from the stubs, his skin had turned an angry red. It was swollen and oozing yellow-green pus from the ends. Deep red lines, the color of a rich wine, ran up his fingers and were starting to spread into his hand. Fuck, the infection was spreading. He started to wrap the new bandage around his wound but had to stop as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His stomach was doing flips as his throat tightened.

What would he do if he lost his whole hand? The infection could spread, killing him. To die in battle or doing something was preferable to wasting away, sweating somewhere in the midst of fever dreams as your body starved itself. He tried to swallow, his tongue feeling larger than it should be.

Clean it. He should clean the wound before wrapping it. But how should he clean it? What would he use? Should he put it in the fire again? No, that would probably make things worse.

“Teryn,” his voice came out as little more than a croak. He cleared his throat and called again, trying to keep the wavering from his voice. “Teryn. Could you help me real fast?”

“I would be happy to,” she said, stepping away from the fire. The others offered curious glances, but the sound of the eggs popping in pig grease drew them quickly back. Griff was finishing up the first set and would be serving them soon.

“What can I do for you, Devin?” she asked, squatting down next to him to avoid putting her knees in the fresh snow.

“I seem to uh,” he cleared his throat again. Why did his heart have to be thumping in his damned throat? Why did he have to be so damned afraid of what the others would think, seeing his wound, seeing him needing help? He was supposed to be the one who helped them, dammit!

“I seem to need some minor cleaning for my fingers,” he finished.

“All right, let's see the wound,” Teryn said, watching his hand.

Devin started to take the new bandage off, stopping briefly to tell her, “Please don’t tell the others.”

A look of puzzlement flitted across her face, her long eyebrows flicking up momentarily. “I won't tell them.”

He took the clean bandage off, exposing his disfigured hand. A fresh wave of revulsion and fear washed over him, threatening to bring his stomach up to join his heart in his throat.

“Oh, Devin,” Teryn said softly, her hands darting out to hold his mangled hand. “Why didn't you say anything before? This is more than minor cleaning.”

“It’s bad, isn't it?” Devin said, taking his eyes off her as she poured over the wound, making tutting sounds. He let himself look out over the fresh white landscape. It was almost funny, in a sick sort of way. Here he was, sitting in a pristine and clean world, his hand a festering sore of rot, running from the corruption and rot of the city to the south, hoping they did not find the same up north.

But the landscape, the world, it just kept moving. It seemed to care little for the comings and goings of their tiny, insignificant lives. In a strange way, this brought some calm back to him. In the grand scheme of things, does anything really matter? His heart crept down his throat, just a little, and his stomach settled down a small amount as well.

“It is not good,” Teryn said, never taking her eyes from his hand. Her fingers were delicate, soft, though he knew what kind of power they could wield. Another funny juxtaposition of the world.

“Wait right here,” she said, quickly standing and walking over to her bag. She brushed off the few questions the others threw at her and came back with a small pack. She opened the clasp and pulled out a thin braid of rope, unlike any he had ever seen. The rope was a shimmering blue and wound with incredibly tiny threads.

“What is that?” he whispered.

Teryn did not look up at him as she started to track the red lines running up his hand from the wound, “This is the product of my brief foray into the healing magics. It can hold infections at bay for a period of time, absorbing the spreading disease into itself, but cannot reverse them.”

She glanced up at him for a brief moment, a small frown on her face. “If you had mentioned this before, rather than let it stew like a buffoon, we could have stopped the infection much sooner.”

Abashed, Devin shot back, “Well, why didn't you use it right after the wound happened? We could have tied it to my fingers immediately.”

“Your fingers did not display any form of infection at that time. I was saving it just in case something more drastic happened and we needed to use it for a life saving, rather than preventive, procedure. I was never very good at healing magics, so it can only do so much. We have to hope Grinnish has some healers or physicians who can reverse the damage that has already been done.”

He sat in silence and she wound the rope around his wrist, just past where the red marks had stretched to. “You’re right, I’m sorry I snapped.”

“It’s fine,” she said in an offhand manner. “Those exposed to things that remind them of their own mortality tend not to make the most sound judgements.”

After she finished wrapping the rope, tying it off with an elaborate knot, she stood up. Teryn turned back to the campfire, pausing only to glance over her shoulder toward him. “I can understand your fear of checking on the status of your wound. Once we find a safe place in Grinnish and have a moment's respite, ask me to tell you the story of my brother, Gryndal.”

“You have a brother?” Devin asked incredulously, but Teryn had already started walking back, making no acknowledgement she had heard his question. Did everyone in this damned world have unspoken of siblings?